The Love Poem I Can’t Seem to Write (Songs for My Tribe)

The Love Poem I Can’t Seem to Write (Songs for My Tribe)
06/29/2017, Deon Mumple

It’s still not good enough, I’ve written the same poem four times now.
I keep trying to say it just right, keep trying, but I don’t really know how.
How do you say this thing, this feeling? What are the right words?
I don’t want to say the same sounds I know you’ve already heard.

It didn’t turn out those times before, when your hope needed fulfilled
And those last two times, when you swore, no more, after the dream was killed
I don’t want to be that way,  I want to be different, and never see you hurt
But I know the times I’ve failed before, don’t trust me,  trust me, you’ll get burned

I’ve written this poem five times now, just trying to say it right
I want to make the promises and keep them, so we always win the fight
I want to be superhuman, and be heroic, but at the same time, be real,
But I don’t feel real; I’m up and down without flying, can’t even control how I feel.

I’ve written this poem six times now, and it’s never going to be perfect
The same as I know about you and me, but I’m not, and you’re not, and we’re not.
I’m afraid, you’re afraid, it’s not going to work, but I hope you’ll give it a shot.
Like this poem, I’m trying to write it right, and keep on writing it wrong,
Me versus verses that don’t have choruses, and a form that’s far from correct
Sometimes even the best composers build a bridge to write a decent love song.

I’ve written this poem seven times, this is the last time, then I’m through.
It may never be exactly right, about like trying on the wrong sized shoe,
But if a hope is just deferred but somehow I know it was meant to come true,
Maybe mixed up words will make the longing fulfilled, so I can win and keep you.

Rage Trigger/Follower Filter

Rage Trigger/Follower Filter

Merry Christmas, everybody.

I don’t like people, and I used to just blanket the world under the statement that I hated everyone equally, but you get to know people and you dislike some people even more than you dislike others.  Oh, tell me all you want about how I can’t judge a book by its’ cover, or I shouldn’t judge or I’ll be judged by the same standards.  Honestly, if I don’t like you, feel free to stay the fuck away and don’t interfere in, don’t interact with, and most importantly, don’t be any influence in, my life.

Grab your breakfast dishes and hold on tight.  Somebody shit in Deon’s cornflakes this morning.

I was innocently sitting at work when one of my associates walked in.  She’s like, 16 or12 or  something, way too young for me to have the slightest interest.  You don’t get Deon unless you’re Mrs M, or Hayley Atwell, or Jeri Ryan, or Mariah Carey, or certain favored co-inhabitants of the blog-iverse.   All of those people, including any that I may or may not have read about or researched online, either should know, or already know, that if you’re not Mrs M you don’t get any extra special favorable treatment.  There will NEVER be any special occasions unless they include an invitation to meet Mrs M back at the bunker.  I am NOT interested in complicating an already too complex life.  And, you can be as hot as you want, but unless you’re 32 or older, AND you’re Mrs M, I don’t want whatever products or services you have, whether you’re selling, giving away, or just advertising.  I may actually love you, you know who you are, I may compliment you in the hottest way I know how, but Mrs M owns everything and I don’t have her permission to give you anything past a hug, and barely that.  OK Disclaimers over, back to my story.

Wait, one more thing:  Jeri, sorry the stalkers scared you, I know that literally happens to celebrities and it sucks.  All you beautiful celebrities and fellow bloggers, I’ll only ever stalk you from afar, and only ever hold you in the highest regard because you’ll never ever find your way into my arms because I’m staying in hiding in the safety of my bunker.  Stay the hell away from me, there’s such a thing as too much temptation.  I know you won’t be able to restrain yourself (-ves).  I’m simply too hot.  Irresistible.  I KNOW.

OK, back to my story. She walked in and she was wearing something, we’ll call it maybe a rock and roll tee shirt or a Christmas sweater, and I said I liked it.  I mean, if you’re wearing a Led Zeppelin tee shirt, everyone’s going to see it.  It’s fucking right there.  And if you’re wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, everyone’s going to see that. If I said what it was and she read it, well, would it help or hinder my argument? She’d know she pissed me off, not that she would read the blog, much less change her opinion of her version of the event. All I said was something complimentary about the item of clothing. Could have said the same thing in the store seeing it on a clothes hanger.

Fuck me if she didn’t start to giggle.  I asked what that was about, and she said, “You know what you were doing.”

WTF?!  OK so, “what was I doing?”

“You KNOW!”

OK babe.  I was NOT checking YOU out.  Firstly, you might as well be twelve and I’m from the dark ages and whatever you’re thinking I’m thinking is just NEVER EVER going to cross my mind.  Secondly, Mrs M holds all the deeds to my property.  And then I thought about it.  This girl is probably very sensitive, aware of herself, and I’ve already heard her besmirch the character of another guy here in the office, a friend of mine she said was staring at her.  I might look over at her once a day if she’s talking to me or if I need to talk to her, but there’s none of that.  And, although I didn’t want to believe it of my friend, I don’t work in his area, so I don’t know.  Maybe this girl is a victim of someone’s abuse, but not of me.

It upset me.   Here’s why:

In these dear United States of The Offended, although people SAY that one is presumed innocent until proven guilty, this is not the case in all cases.  Young little Miss Thang, who looks young enough to be my daughter, presumed my guilt.  Presumed my covert hostility.  Presumed my bad intent   *cue Ian, and play Jethro Tull’s Aqualung*

What the fucking fuck?   I didn’t zoom in and try to observe. I observed the wardrobe and tried to say something nice. I didn’t covet the the contents. I don’t have x-ray vision, not that there’s much to observe. One can window-shop all one wants, but if the shelves are almost empty or I have better at home I’m not giving it more than a glance.   Jumping to your misbegotten premature conclusions like that makes it sound like I was openly staring, taking careful measurements, and making a schematic diagram.

Your presumption of my hostility is an act of hostility to me, little one.  And hostility is a HUGE trigger to my hostility, but not the kind of hostility you presumed.  It’s as bad or worse than presuming that I’m privileged and you’re not based on things about me you PRESUME, without actually knowing me or anything about my life.  And let me repeat myself:  “Oh, tell me all you want about how I can’t judge a book by its’ cover, or I shouldn’t judge or I’ll be judged by the same standards.  Honestly, if I don’t like you, feel free to stay the fuck away and don’t interfere in, don’t interact with, and most importantly, don’t be any influence in, my life.”   More importantly, if you don’t like me, do the same but go twice as far away.

If I can’t judge you by your presumptiveness, and I can’t hate you back for presumptively hating me, then you are at an unfair advantage and I won’t be set up for that.  That statement above is very important.  Feel free to stay away, please.  Don’t try to touch me, talk to me, or have any impact on my life whatsoever. Please.  No, really.  Please. Go. Away.  And, although if pressed you would deny all of this, it’s too late.  I already hate you and my walls have gone up, little one.  And it’ll take a LOT for the walls to come back down. I literally put a folder up on top of the cubicle wall to prevent her from presuming my being possessed with perversion.  I wouldn’t want to be speaking to her and have her think the wrong thing ever again.

Things that make me dislike people are myriad, but I try to be fair, until I get to know a person.

I’m sure there’s a top 11 list of things that do.  Oh look!  Here comes one now:

11  Conceit
10  Selfishness
9    Presumption
8    Hunger for power
7    Being over-charged for things I need
6    Reckless disregard for others
5    Being Demanding
4    Being upset when your unrealistic or unnecessary or tyrannically urgent, spoken or unspoken, demands or expectations aren’t met
3    Forcing me to do something twice when once should be enough but you weren’t satisfied the first time.  (see also, demands)
2    Not doing or saying anything to acknowledge when I try hard to do something nice for you.
1    Saying you care and then presenting ongoing evidence to the contrary.

I read a quote attributed to Maria Callas, a formerly famous opera singer.  The internet says she said, “Don’t come to me with your troubles.  I have to work for my money, and you are young enough to work too.  If you can’t make enough money to live on, you can jump out of the window or drown yourself.”  It made me intensely dislike Maria, and if she wasn’t dead and found out I didn’t like her, she’d probably cry all the way to her rich friends and they’d all have flutes full of consolation champagne.  If it’s the truth and that’s an accurate quote, Maria had a very ugly soul.

It goes to prove you can have a measure of outer beauty, and be completely hideous on the inside.  It also goes to prove you can be surrounded by swarms of deluded people who are more than willing to tell you how great you are.  These are the kind that are happy just to have your shadow fall upon them, but in the end you’re empty and worthless.

I submit that you can be a bitch and still have people who actually know you, actually like you.  As evidence, your honor, I submit myself, exhibit A.  Well, I THINK they like me.  I’m a bitch, it’s true.  Just read a little more of the blog if you’re uncertain.  But I actually care about other people, and people I actually care about can tell.  Maybe I’m deluding myself; maybe that’s how Maria deluded herself.  But if you’re a self-centered heartless one, although people may wish to bask in the glow of your fame, or profit from it, no one really likes you.

Sure, I wish the world revolved around me or at least I wish I was privileged like some people think I am.  It would make everything so much easier.  For me.  But it doesn’t, and I gave up on the concept of myself as God probably about the time Aqualung came out…if I was even born that long ago… not saying it wouldn’t be great to be in control, but saying I guess I can deal with the fact I’m not as long as you let me wrestle for as much control as I can have.  I should probably count myself lucky to have a [ctrl] key on the keyboard, and be content with that.  The more I wrestle for it, the less I seem to have.  Fucking universe fucker…  I’d get rid of him if I could.  It’s hard enough without a thing bent on making it worse.

So yeah, my “privileged” self wrapped ONE present for Mrs M and we went shopping for some small items for our kids because that was all we could afford.  I DID find one other thing for Mrs M…no, she found it and needed it for work so I bought it.  The car repairs and my teeth and whatever else breaks will have to wait until next year for the “privilege.”

Judge not, so you won’t be judged.  Don’t think you’re all that enough to presume I can see something that isn’t there, worse, think I’m trying to see it, and then passive-aggressively hate me for it.  When I go back to work, I hope to bring Christmas cards for the top of the cubicle walls, because honey, I’ve seen into your soul, without having to inspect the shell, and it’s not attractive to me.  With your ugly-ass soul, I’d rather not be able to see the shell at all, or anything you put on it, even if it is a cool rock and roll t shirt or an ugly Christmas sweater, you ugly-souled, self-centered, presumptuous fucking   bitch.

For the rest of you, still, Merry Christmas and thanks for letting me vent a little.  If you think that my venting is the best Christmas present you got this year, I am PROFOUNDLY sorry.

Tomorrow, something SO much better.  A Christmas poem.  Just you wait.  And for the record, you can check me out all you want.  Just don’t touch.

~Deon, feeling less pre-Christmas rage and more Christmas do-we-have -to-go-see-the-in–laws-again-stress already.  Hooray for Christmas sarcasm.  Save me, baby Jesus!!

Not Going to Post It

So I was writing a rant yesterday because I was cranked about something that happened Sunday.  I walked away and reread it, and it was a complete waste of time.  I’m not going to post it.

Though I didn’t have a motive except expressing the truth, I thought about the audience.  Would they question my motives?  What would they think my motives were in writing the piece?  Self aggrandizement?  Professional hobbling of the competition?  It couldn’t happen, because I have given up all hope of a career in the field I’ve trained in.  Those doors are shut, fuck that, and fuck me because I can’t get a foot in the door and I’m not sure I’d be as happy now as I used to be when my foot was in the door.  I did it for years, underpaid, underappreciated, and never could climb up the ladder to making actual money doing it.  Fuck me, it’s the same as what I do now!  Just not directly in the field of my training.  So this person has a job doing what he does, in the field of my training, I admit I’m jealous and wonder how the fuck he got his foot in the door paying his bills doing what I trained to do that I can’t.  He did something I felt was completely wrong, so what was I to do?

I gently emailed the person I was upset about it, told them what they did and that I and others were offended by it.  The person emailed me back a kind of half-assed apology and said they were “only joking.”  What did I expect?

A half-assed apology.

There will be no backtracking and apology to the whole group, only to me, and it’s half-assed.  If anyone else advised him the same, they’ll get the same.  It’s a matter of the offender’s professionalism.

I wish I could climb the ladder to success, and piss people off along the way and give a half assed apology and get by with it.  But then I’d be a politician or an “entertainer.”  You know the one.  He isn’t any more “entertaining” to me than the person who offended me was “comedic.” If I tried that shit I’d be fired and unemployed.

I can’t get away with being half-assed.  Because although others are complete asses, right along with me, in the fairy tale that is my life, I don’t get to skate by and live happily ever after after being half-assed about anything.

And I can’t get away with being a complete ass.  If I could, I’d get what I want and care less about anyone else.  Instead, I genuinely care.  Fuck me for not being a psychopath.  I think it might be easier to fake it than to feel it.

I want my wife to genuinely love me, not throw me tokens occasionally when she feels like it.  I want her to just love me the same way I love her.  I’m not exactly calling her a psychopath, but I am attracted to her strength.  She expresses that strength by getting what she wants, and then some.  But despite all of that, I still sometime wonder

Rex exaggerates.  He says men are honest, but we know that’s bullshit.  The apology I got, while in the offender’s mind was sufficient, was anything but.  He said it like he meant it, but I still feel that it’s bullshit until the whole group gets the same.  And even then I think it’s bullshit.  Men who have to apologize, and indeed women who have to apologize, after getting their way, are full of shit, because they got what they wanted.

It’s like a criminal saying how he or she deeply regrets doing what they did.  Well fuck yeah, you regret it.  Not doing what you did, you fucker, you regret getting caught fucking DOING it.  If you have to apologize for making a “joke,” it wasn’t a joke, it was an offense and you should have thought through it and NOT fucking said it.

And having ranted, I can only say,

I’m sorry.

Apologizing and Accepting Responsibility

In the United States, social groups are quick to be offended and quick to name-call and quick to point fingers.  These tactics are intended to give the offended, name calling, finger pointers an indefensible advantage over others.  And what happens?  The “offenders” are quick to apologize for whatever perceived offense has been pointed out.  And the apology is tantamount to accepting the validity of the claim, and responsibility for the offense, real or not.  It’s a selfish, hateful behavior the same as taking something tangible from someone else that you haven’t earned, and that’s why

I call bullshit.  And this is bullshit.

I’m a horrible, hateful person when it comes to finger-pointers and name-callers.  Fuck all of you who do this.  In these United States of America, you can say one group is socially privileged over another group.  That’s because you have the right to speak your mind freely, whether your shit is logical or not.  But not because it’s “truth.”

I could point to my own favorite example of racial profiling, when I was passed by a driver of another race and I was the one who got a ticket instead of the other driver, whose offense to society was greater.  The cop was the same race as the person who didn’t get the ticket.  But we were both breaking the speed limit, and I just happened to get caught.  I paid the fine, and the increased insurance penalty.  And I didn’t go to court to protest, because I had no photographic evidence of the white Cadillac that had passed me, going far faster.  And because I was breaking the speed limit.  I submitted to the authority that was over me, and was right about me.

Or I can say there are counter examples through our history showing that it’s not just about your racial identity or another person’s privilege, it’s about what you do.  I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m not saying there’s not a bit of luck involved, or perhaps providential intervention if you believe in such a thing.  But I’m saying, in the United States, there are opportunities for people who work hard.

It used to be the truth.  The past is full of examples of racism in America- Chinese immigrants were hated, Italian immigrants were hated, Irish immigrants were hated, Polish immigrants were hated, Jewish people were hated, Africans were sold into slavery and forced to come to America by other Africans, and hated by non-Africans.  All these groups were mistreated, hated and treated as suspect.  All these groups were denied employment, called names, joked about.  In Germany in World War II, the Jewish people were treated with such hatred they were forced into death camps.  And if you were Oriental in 1940s America, you could have been rounded up and migrated to your own camp in terror of Japanese attacks from inside the United States.

Outside the United States, we’ve watched the Hutus and the Tutsis in conflict in a Rwandan genocide.  We’ve watched the Palestinian pisants biting and baiting Israel, with random rockets, and then they complain of persecution when Israel says, “no more.”  And we’ve watched ISIL shooting and beheading resistance, and the Nigerian kidnappers who claim to be in league with ISIL, but they’re all just bullies who are demanding an unfair, illegitimate advantage.  We need to see selfish bullies for who they are.  Shame on them.

I could accept that there are examples of one race exerting power over another, in law enforcement, but could also cite Chris Rock that submission is the best tactic when dealing with law enforcement.  Don’t break the law, and you’ll be fine.

I could accept that there is wage discrimination, and well there may be.  But I could also city my own Masters Degree education, that I worked very hard to complete, and my own being passed over for promotions in favor of a less-qualified, less-informed person who didn’t know shit about my company and came in to be my boss, and asked me to train them, not just once, but several times.

I could also confess that after the first two times that happened, I quit trying for the promotions because I didn’t have the energy in my frequently depressed state.  Perhaps it wasn’t about me personally, but more my lack of stamina to put myself in the race more than twice.  Perhaps if I listened to Jimmy Valvano and applied what he said, to my life.  I’m accepting personal responsibility for myself.  But I won’t accept responsibility for you, especially if you’re pushing it onto me and off of yourself.

I’m saying that I’m not accepting responsibility for your perceived slight.  I won’t.  I won’t apologize for something I didn’t participate in.  You can say I’m the beneficiary and I don’t believe it.  I don’t care, because I’m not “advantaged” over your feeling “disadvantaged.”  I’m saying that I’m not apologizing for your perceived lack of opportunity.  I won’t.  I’m saying that I’m not accepting your citation of a historical disadvantage, even though it may have been “truth,” it was stamped with an expiration date.  When the person who was actually disadvantaged died, it expired with them.

And finally, I’m saying before you take offense, point fingers, call names or whatever bullshit, look inside to see if your heart resonates with what you’re about to say or do, whether you really believe it’s truth or whether you have doubts about the actual situation.  Ask yourself, and be honest in your answer, whether you’re doing it for your own personal gain, or your own social groups’ gain, or for everyone’s gain, because we only win when we all win.  And look outside, do the research to see what’s truth and what’s rumor and what’s just lies.  And then, don’t.  Just don’t, because it’s bullshit.  Don’t take offense.  Don’t point fingers.  Don’t call names.  Do something productive to contribute to society. My complaints are bullshit, and so are yours.  They’re worthless, in fact, they detract from society while someone is giving me a handout I don’t deserve because I didn’t work for it, I just presumed I deserved it and made noise until someone gave it up to me.

In the grand scheme of things, we only have what we have and not what we don’t have.  If you take what doesn’t belong to you by force, whether resource or unjustified advantage, you’re a worthless bully and your barbaric advantage will be wasted.  If you (and I) work hard and share what does belong to you (and I)- opportunity, time, money, education, and especially, love, you (and I) will feel great and be better for it, whether recognized for it or not.  And trust me:  Someone will notice.

Sorry for Gratuitous Swearing

I wrote a few blog entries and then I thought, “Oh shit! My mum would not approve of me swearing. Oh, damn, I just thought a swear. They’re nonstop. Fuck!” Anyway, sorry, swearing is just going to be a part of this blog, if you can handle it, welcome and go ahead and follow if you want, I may follow back. If you can’t handle it, well, mum would say, “thank you for stopping by.”

It’s just going to happen. Some days you just need a good swear. When he was on late at night I used to watch Craig Ferguson, and he liked a good swearing in. He swore in a chummy funny kind of way. I would love to swear all chummy and funny, but I haven’t mastered that.

All I do is swear when I get upset. I get angry, I get stressed out, I get frustrated, I feel unable to cope. Swearing is a coping mechanism. It’s a stress reliever. Sometimes it just makes me laugh when I realize I’m doing it, because it’s automatic. I can tell you there are two basic reasons why I’ll swear: Mostly it’s internal, anger directed at myself, but sometimes it’s external, anger directed at people who do irritating stupid things that piss me off. I’m sorry, mum. But it’s just going to happen.

Life is full of little irritants, like the sand at the beach when you are caught in a big wave, and it gets all in your shorts, especially when you’re at the ocean and the rug-burn is accentuated by the cold salt water.. And bigger irritants like when the boss keeps piling on the work and you already feel maxed out. I need a fucking vacation. Just me, by myself. Sorry ladies, that is if you were even remotely interested, just back the fuck off. You probably weren’t, considering how beautiful you are, but surprisingly, I just want to be left alone. But you can buy me a drink at the bar, whenever, or if ever, I go on that vacation.

Catch me when I’m not bitching about everything. Life is shitty right now. It’ll take a few days off to just start to recover. Or a few drinks. Or both. Is it the opposite of swearing to say “Thank God it’s fucking FRIDAY?”